


Out of Burning Sand

by bachlava



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-21
Updated: 2011-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bachlava/pseuds/bachlava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-ep for 1x12, “Hana 'a'a Makehewa.” Chin and Danny face the immediate aftermath of what's happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Burning Sand

**Author's Note:**

> This fic had its genesis in the episode previews, and realigns canon’s timeline very slightly.
> 
> Beta-read by the very helpful zelda_zee.

_And how should a beautiful, ignorant stream of water know it heads for an early release - out across the desert, running toward the Gulf, below sea level, to murmur its lullaby, and see the Imperial Valley rise out of burning sand with cotton blossoms, wheat, watermelon, roses, how should it know?_  -Carl Sandburg, “Many Hats”

  
  

Maybe on the outside Danny’s training is taking over and he’s.  _In control. Collected._  Doing his job. But below the surface, one layer down, time is skipping ahead and then sticking in grooves,  _fastfast_ forward and then: slow motion. He’s adapted to the climate, partway, but he doesn’t need to look at his shirt: sweat. He’s keeping it under control, he’s not panicking, _butbutbut_. His mouth tastes like aluminum foil. He’s cold. He wishes for an analog clock with a loud tick.

SWAT vans and Kojak lights; sunshine. People being kept still, holding still, stillest of all, Chin Ho. Others running: emergency teams.

They’re like crows, the perimeter team. Black kevlar, helmets, gloves; reporter-flies that he can’t see, in the background, buzzing. Smelling corpse.  _Don’t think -_ The crows call out single words, shorthand code, that carry over the silence. There’s breeze, there’s traffic, but it’s there:  _silence_ , a thing in itself. His heartbeat reverberates on his ribs.

 _Andthenandthenandthen._  He feels that heavy collar lifted up more than he sees it, although he’s lifting it himself, eyes glued.  _The lights._  Dead time. Dead weight. Then Chin, half-slung. 

Danny ignores the pain in his shoulder and gives himself permission to breathe.

  

Chin halfway moves with Danny, like he knows the pain is about to hit. He lets himself be handed off to a response team, and Danny watches as he’s stripped of his clothing, as his body is wiped for residue.

He turns aside for a modicum of privacy as the medics do their drill, calls Steve and Kono, knows they’ll be answering questions all night. He promises Kono he’ll handle things with Chin, stay with him, lets her hear Chin’s voice for a minute. _Staying focused and clearing your part is the best thing you can do for him._  

An officer moves in to schedule a statement from Chin, and then he and Danny get assigned to ride back to HQ in a SWAT van, Chin wrapped in a fire blanket. He clutches a pharmacy bag from the medic: instructions, prescription pills, a number to call. Danny takes the bag to leave both Chin’s hands for the blanket. Once they’re inside the office, he can hear himself think again, although the silence is broken with Chin’s breathing, the hum of electricity: good sounds. “Hey, listen,” he says. “I’m guessing you don’t really want to talk much right now.”

“No.”

“And your head’s pretty messed up.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay... You keep a change of clothes here, right?” Chin nods. “Well, you managed not to piss yourself out there, which is impressive, so why don’t you go to the locker room and pee or throw up or whatever you need to do.” Another nod. “Then you need to take a hot shower - not scalding hot, but pretty warm. For a good fifteen minutes, maybe twenty? Then you can let me know what you want to do, or else I’ll come up with something.”

Chin doesn’t reply, retreats to the locker room. Danny makes a stab at getting the file updated, at ordering his desk, but he’s no good for it. His clothes are sticking to him, so he retrieves his own spares and takes a quick shower in the women’s locker room, empty as it is. He doesn’t want to see the old clothes again, doesn’t want to feel them. The tie was a Christmas present from his mother, and maybe he should keep it - but, no, he wants it gone.

He gives Chin a good half hour before going in to retrieve him: “Okay, time to shut off the water, or you’re gonna turn into a prune.” Chin emerges from the stall and dries and dresses himself almost absently. “Come on, time to go home,” Danny says. “I’m guessing you want to go back to your place.”

“Yeah.”

Danny signs out a car from the motor pool and takes a circuitous route to Chin’s apartment, eluding the press. The ride is silent, except when Chin says, “Thanks, brah.”

“Hey, just doing my job. I’ve been on the other side of the equation myself.” Not that it was the same, but high on adrenaline, or coming down from it, you don’t focus on the details. At a stop light, he takes Chin’s pulse: faster than resting. Not too fast.

In his apartment, Chin stands at the window, hands in his pockets. Danny gets his head together enough to whip up a meal that neither one of them wants to eat and puts it in the freezer, because why not? Chin doesn’t move even when it gets dark and there’s nothing much to look at. Danny brings him a plate with a quarter of a bagel and two pills that aren’t to be taken on empty stomach. “Here. Eat this and then take the medicine. Your knees must be killing you.” Not to mention his neck. 

Chin doesn’t comment. He eats slowly, like he’s not confident of how or why to do it, and then downs the capsules. “Drink the whole glass. You don't want to get dehydrated.” Danny’s stirred in an electrolyte mix, and the taste makes Chin wince a little as he downs the glass with unbroken swallows.

He fills another glass, in case Chin wants it, and helps him into a chair, where he sits rigidly with his hands on his knees. “Stay off those for a while,” Danny says. “Holler if you need me.” He steps into the hallway, giving them both some space to process, although less of that space is for himself, and he fishes out his phone. He’s glad Chin’s is in evidence. That kind of disturbance is the last thing you need at a time like this. 

He calls Grace, and he lets himself realize how badly he’s wanted to all along. “Danno loves you, baby. I’m doing okay.” Grace sounds confused because she doesn’t know that he might not have been, but she loves him too, and she can’t wait to celebrate Christmas with him, and who needs Santa Claus to be real when there’s Danno? He tells her again that he loves her and that he’ll remember candy canes, and that she’s his angel, his princess, his precious baby girl, and she means more than the rest of the world put together, and Merry Day-Before-Christmas-Eve.

When he comes back into the apartment, Chin Ho’s still sitting in the chair. The light is dimmer than in the hall, and the chair-side lamp makes everything about him look sharper: face’s planes, muscle tone, the black of his eyelashes against pale skin. He’s holding himself differently, tenser, like his mind is less adrift. It’s a look Danny knows from having worn himself, panic meets shock meets  _I’maliveit’srealnow_. Chin’s left hand is clenched in a fist, and he’s trembling, not in fear, Danny thinks, but because there’s  _too much_  going through him and he’s still frozen. 

He goes over and stands by the chair, Chin Ho’s knees coming up just below his. “It hit you, huh?” he whispers. 

No reply, and Danny wasn’t expecting one. Instead, Chin presses their hands together, and Danny feels sweat and the speeding up of a pulse. There’s an erection pushing at the front of Chin’s jeans, like Danny thought there probably would be, and his pupils are dilated, head tilting back. “Go ahead, we’re cool,” he says, in case Chin is looking for permission, “do what you need to.” If there isn’t exactly a thing between them, and there’s not, it’s also not like they haven’t done some stuff on occasion, and if this winds up being more intense than Danny would have planned for - it’s okay, or it will be.

There’s no nod or long look between them this time. Chin puts his hands on Danny’s hips and then, not too hurriedly but smoothly, unbuckles his belt, opens his fly, pushes the slacks and boxers down to his ankles. He rests a hand on Danny’s lower back and urges him forward, then takes his cock in hand. Danny isn’t hard yet, only stirring, but Chin doesn’t bother to pump him, just guides it to his lips. He takes in probably less than he could but still ignores the shaft, using both his hands to hold Danny’s hips. Well, okay. This is about Chin and not about Danny, so Danny puts his left hand on the wall for balance and his right one on Chin’s head. Not holding him there - only brushing, pressing a little.  _I’m here. You’re here._  Chin’s hair is coarser than it looks, but right now Danny likes the feel of it, likes the rocking motion under his hand.

Chin doesn’t bother with fancy tongue work beyond some swirls or maybe more like slurps when it suits him. He just sucks, his cheeks hollow, eyes - as far as Danny can tell - looking in the direction his head is tilted and seeing absolutely nothing that’s in front of him. This is maybe not Danny’s favorite way of getting a blow job, not that he’s going to complain about getting a blow job, but the suction is focused and intense like nothing he’s felt in a long time, and  _god_ , it feels like something that would make for a really bad simile, and if he can still think about similes he’s thinking too much, so he tries to shut off his brain and  _feel._

He wants to close his eyes, but he keeps them open because Chin would probably prefer it, should he happen to look up. As it is, Danny’s sort of grateful that he doesn’t because he’s not sure he could handle the intensity right this minute, although he’d probably have to try. But Chin tilts his head according to whatever he seems to feel like at the moment, not corresponding to anything that Danny can feel, and Chin’s mouth is hot and wet where it had been dry,  _dry_ , hot sun and lack of water and that  _fear_. Danny sees as much as feels his cock get redder, stiffer, as Chin keeps on, and Chin angles his head down so that, Danny guesses, he doesn’t have to think about breathing or gagging or anything at all. 

And, yes, Danny’s feeling it, more and more, but Chin’s mouth is getting slack, although Danny’s nowhere near finishing. He pulls himself away carefully, reluctantly. “Hey. You’re doing great, but let’s give your jaw a rest, huh?” Chin looks blank for a second, but then he nods, and Danny runs a hand over Chin’s hair. “I can make you a little more comfortable right now. Just unzip your pants.”

Chin’s faraway gaze and his pose don’t alter, but he swallows once and frees his erection almost automatically. His cognitive function’s not at the point where it trips anything in his mind when Danny kneels, not to the point of his doing anything other than letting himself be pushed backward. Danny doesn’t go for anything ambitious either, just takes Chin’s already-straining cock into his mouth and immediately gets the taste of pre-cum, a little bit metallic -  _not like fear._  He takes what he can and wraps his hand around the rest, and it’s maybe two tongue moves and half a minute of sucking before Chin’s coming in his mouth, making Danny fight to swallow neatly even though he knew how it would happen, knew Chin wouldn’t last at all. 

For a minute afterwards, Chin doesn’t do anything except sprawl back breathing hard, looking winded. Then, before Danny can react, can even process, he’s being pushed to the floor on his back, and Chin’s using his hands to pin Danny’s wrists to his hips and hold him, not like it’s restraint, just to keep things running smoothly, and Chin’s on him again, and this time he’s using his tongue some, more or less randomly, but he’s still using it and Danny is ready, much closer than he was. Chin takes a little more than he did earlier, but he’s still latching on like it’s the only thing in the world, and he doesn’t seem to mind that Danny fails to communicate that he’s about to come. He swallows like it’s easy as breathing and keeps moving his lips gently, lightly, until Danny has to push him away.

They stay on the floor for a good few minutes. Danny’s brain isn’t working at an ideally high level, but he’d rate its function as at least adequate, and he sees it when Chin starts looking uncomfortable. “Come on, let’s get you into a nice, orthopedically acceptable bed,” he says, and he helps Chin to his feet. “Now is probably a good time for one of those sleeping pills they gave you, unless there’s something you’d rather do. Crossword puzzles, catch up on your reading, maybe talk.”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. What do you sleep in?”

“Shirt and boxers.”

So Danny won’t have to look around for the right pajamas. Good. It occurs to him that he and Chin have never actually spent the night at each other’s places. “Sit there and let me get you out of those. You don’t want to bend your knees or your neck too much.” Chin is passive, and Danny works the shirt off without too much difficulty, and the jeans with a little more. They’re still clean, and he folds them by the bed. “Right. Sleeping pill. The instructions say to have one and stay sitting up for a few minutes. Think you can do that?”

“Yeah.”

Danny lifts Chin’s feet and turns his legs onto the mattress, which Chin could probably do fine by himself, but Danny knows from experience that willing yourself to move a painful knee is not a lot of fun. It’s something he can do, anyway, and Chin lets him, takes the water for his pill. He guesses that Chin would rather have him close by, so he puts his outer clothes by Chin’s and then gets them both under the covers, a top sheet and thin blanket. Chin is stiffer than is probably good, maybe not liking to have his thoughts left uninterrupted, and Danny ventures a linking of arms, initiating a squeeze of the hand so that Chin doesn’t have to. 

“For Christmas I sent my mom a bread machine,” he says, because it was what came to mind, and it will fill the silence as well as the next thing that isn’t lights and timers and wires and  _don’t move_. “My sister and I went in on it, actually. Mom has always loved fresh-baked bread, but of course it was too much trouble when she had us kids to keep an eye on. Once in a while she would do it, and I remember the smell... So good, you know?”

Chin doesn’t answer, but it’s a rhetorical question anyway. “I don’t know why she never bought herself one off Craigslist or something, but it makes my life easier right now. She asked for something that would bring a little bit of Hawaii to her, but I was actually kind of lost there.”

Chin nods, but his face is blank; he isn’t processing. “You can actually ship fish,” Danny goes on, because it fills the silence better than  _what if?_ , “but it’s never anywhere near as good. Same with fruit, unless you count coffee beans, which I sent for her birthday, so that wouldn’t work. I’m no good at choosing clothes or jewelry for her. That leaves, what, souvenir mugs, or else a surfboard.”

“Music,” Chin says, indistinctly; Danny almost can’t make out the word, wasn’t expecting one. “Makaha Sons.” He falls into a slumped posture, and his eyes flicker. 

“Here, why don’t lie down?” He helps Chin into an acceptable position, and Chin’s asleep before the lights are out, although Danny's left one lamp on just in case.

Danny hadn’t thought he’d be able to sleep after everything, not without help, but the adrenaline is burning out, and he’s so fucking tired, like he’s been drained. He lays his head on the pillow and he’s gone, falling into something dreamless and blank -

except at a moment when he’s roused, halfway, by heat and pressure, Chin’s body flush against his, straining, and he knows. Knows he’ll find Chin as he does, hard and heart pounding and three-quarters aware, knows Chin hasn’t deliberately woken him up. So Danny turns in the mostly-darkness, faces him. “Hey. It’s okay, I’m right here... I’m guessing you want to handle that yourself.” He puts an arm around Chin’s shoulders. “Here, I’ve got you. Go ahead.” And he tries to be there, keeps the contact, tries to stay awake, to whisper whatever doesn’t mean anything but comes to his head, and his eyes will not stay open, not for long. He catches glimpses of Chin’s eye, hears him breathing, faster, _faster_ , has a sense of motion. And then he’s lulled by the stillness again. He hears the rustle of cleaning up, doesn’t see it because his eyes are closed, gives Chin’s free hand a squeeze before they’re both out.

  

Danny wakes before the alarm he set for himself, before it’s really sunrise, and at first he’s not sure where he is and he panics, a little. Then he sees Chin and remembers things and starts to panic more, and he closes his eyes,  _Count to five hundred by sevens, Daniel_ , and because he has to, he gets a grip.

He couldn’t care less about his routine this morning, has no interest in curls and push-ups, but he forces himself through it because the last thing he needs today is to get neurotic. When he’s done, when he’s cleaned up for the morning, he calls Kono and then Steve, and the sun is shining and he has to go wake Chin up because the alternative is to try to turn off Chin’s unnecessarily high-tech alarm clock without breaking the thing. He stands a short distance from the bed, because the first instinct is to fight and repeats variations of Chin’s name and  _wake up_  until it works. “How’s it going?” Danny asks.

Chin tries to shrug and winces, which is as much of a response as Danny needs. “Take your time getting up. I’ll get breakfast together. You hungry?”

“Not yet.”

“You will be. The last time you ate was a good thirty-six hours ago, apart from two bites of bagel. And the electrolytes, which probably ruined your appetite.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Danny makes tea because it’s easier to stomach than coffee, mixes egg-white omelets even though his hands want to shake. There’s a strange, festive-looking item of produce that he retrieves from the hydrator box. “Dragon fruit,” Chin explains, dressed and ready, finding Danny examining the thing. “Punahou cactus. Should be ripe.”

“Thanks.” He joins Chin at the table and reminds himself that he’s hungry too, takes a bite of his omelet. Not bad, and Chin’s across from him, breathing. He takes a deep breath himself. “So before you ask,” Danny says, “yes, I figured your reaction to circumstances would probably be about what it was, and yes, I would have brought you home and stayed here if any element of the situation had been different.”

“Good to know.” Chin’s face looks as serene as ever, but he’s still holding himself more than a little like he’s coiled to spring, although that’s probably better than any reasonably possible alternative. “No worries,” he adds.

Danny grins. “Good, because the last thing we need is anything else to worry about.” He prays that everything about the case that does need to make him worry, which is all of it, will stay quiet or at least wait to boil over until after Christmas Day. That isn’t too much to ask for, he hopes, although the fact that something isn’t too much to ask for does not mean that you’ll actually get it. Right, deep breath. “I remember - something happened, right after I made homicide detective. They sent me home for a week.”

“Overkill?”

“I thought so. Maybe, maybe not. I was just - I was shaking like a leaf, which means something where the trees have actual leaves. I couldn’t let go of Rachel, didn’t want to be out of her sight.” There was a time, not long ago, when the memory of it was almost unbearable. He makes himself smile, at least at his teacup. “I was younger. Nine months later, Grace was born. Which, not that we weren’t planning - anyway. Too much information.”

“A little,” Chin agrees. “Speaking of Grace, we still on for tonight?”

 _Tonight._  Danny closes his eyes and breathes. “Incredibly, yes. We’re still on. Meanwhile, Kono’s coming by at eleven, if that’s okay with you.”

“It’s great. Can’t wait to see my cuz.” Chin is actually smiling, smiling big. “Have some of this dragonfruit.”

Danny takes a piece from the plate, black-seeded white pulp with flamboyant skin, because it’s not the time to argue. It’s cool and mildly sweet, and in the time for sugarplums he’s okay with being reminded of the taste of summer watermelons.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Hawaii Five-0_ is all CBS'; no claim or commerce here.
> 
> Image credits (livejournal): wuschel2nozzo, (stock), colis, causticammo, botanicalstills, siscokid98, babycin, shalowater, zequins.


End file.
